


too darn hot

by shakespearespaz



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (at least I'm gonna TRY), A little, Bad Hawaiian Shirts, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Hot Weather, Kissing, Quarantine, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Whump, i love 13 but she doesn't know what to do with romantic attraction, one day i'll stop using quarantine as a plot device, probably rated a little high but we'll see where later chapters go, that day is not today, the kids are thirsty, these losers need to admit their feelings or they're gonna kill me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: The Doctor and the Master get quarantined on a resort planet, only to find out that their neighbors are...the Doctor and the Master.(aka I just wanted to mess around with this questionable quartet of my favorite Doctor/Master pairings and make them work through some of their feelings)
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/Missy, Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 73
Kudos: 163





	1. one

“You’re the one who wouldn’t stop coughing!”

“Yeah, well, they asked where we’d travelled in the last six months and you gave them a _list._ ”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You lie!”

The Master slammed the door to the two story condominium duplex. The Doctor was already in the tiled hallway, riding his rolling suitcase through to the living room. She popped her blonde head back thru the doorframe.

“At least the digs are nice.”

The Master sighed and shed his suit jacket, hanging it on the coat rack in the entryway. That was the problem with a tidally locked planet where the sun never set. Even with climate control, it was always too damn hot. He followed her through to the living slash kitchen slash dining area.

She was opening all the cupboards in the small, bright teal kitchen.

“Just seeing what they’ve got,” she said, as she closed a cupboard with a bang, “If I’m quarantined for a week with you, I’ve got to know my resources.”

“Ugh!” He let out an exaggerated cry of disgust. “Seven days with nothing to do but—”

“Don’t test me,” she interrupted coldly, kneeing a drawer shut with a clatter, “Because I’m armed.”

She brandished a whisk.

He wanted to either laugh at her or strangle her, and that had been the mood for the last several days. He figured it would still be the mood for the next week. She put the whisk back in the drawer as he pressed his eyes closed.

He had almost won. She had followed his carefully laid trail to the very beginnings of Earth’s colonization out into the cosmos. Another perfect deception, only this time he had counted on her to bring the one thing that she’d decided to leave behind—her companions. He’d meant to do the usual—torture them by dramatically altering the course of the universe and their lives and sending the Doctor down another spiral of guilt for putting them in harm’s way, ultimately just to remind her that they were the only two left—

“Oh! We’ve got a back deck! I’ve always wanted a back deck!”

She brought him back to this planet by pushing past him. Her coat flapped by as she opened the clear door to the outside world.

“My, uh, my TARDIS has a back deck,” he pointed out.

He was ignored. She was already beyond the wide windows and door, out on the beautiful tiled white patio. The sun hung high in the sky, though it never varied much from that position. Fake grass pushed out in all directions, stopping only when it hit other condo buildings or the small, murky pond down the hill. She pointed at a large object between their deck and the neighbors.

“Oh, and a hot tub.” She frowned and shrugged. “Eh, the TARDIS has a hot tub.”

She paused, looking up at the sky. He was hot just looking at her, noticing how her hair fell just above her shoulders, making it easy to follow the curve of her neck down to the soft blue—

“Can you take that ridiculous pastel wool coat off?” he prodded, “Aren’t you burning up?”

She turned to give him glare that burned as much as the beams from the constant sun. Her head twisted back up, and she was fascinated by something far above them. She never stopped, did she?

He had almost gotten her to stop, as mere days ago they stood face to face on the colony ship. He’d emptied it in his own ugly way of all its inhabitants. Their ships were on the surface of the planet far below them, leaving them alone in orbit high above. He remembered the rage when he learned she’d left behind the very humans that were the keys to his scheme. The frustration burned through him. Without even trying she could undermine his best plans right from the very start.

It was watching her reverse time, reversing his hard work, except ten times worse, because he had never even gotten started.

He remembered the sight of her crippled before him though, a tiny form on the ground. Those eyes still burrowed into him with their defiance. He’d reached out, but his greedy hand never made it to her.

The colony ship was catapulted across the galaxy.

“I can see it.”

Her quiet, frustrated voice broke through to him again. Her hand came up and she pointed past the condo buildings to the sky, to a point halfway between the horizon and the sun. A small cratered planet was suspended there, visible even in the daylight.

“We made it across all those systems in mere days and here we are. _Stuck_.”

She stiffened, the enthusiastic façade dropping. She pivoted to return inside, brushing by him to get through the door.

“I hate you,” she spat as she passed.

He wrapped his hand tightly around her arm, intentionally digging his fingers into the soft flesh and stopping her before she crossed the threshold. He let out a loud laugh in her small face.

“Oh, lighten up. You’ll be back to your precious ship in no time.” He licked his lips. “Until then, just enjoy this cushy resort they’ve set up in, and be thankful you don’t actually have this intergalactic flu.”

Her eyes softened the tiniest bit, but he wasn’t letting her get off that easy. This close, he could see that her face was a nice shade of rosy red from the heat.

“Oh,” he whispered, leaning in, “You’re looking a little flush there. Might want to shed some layers.”

She yanked her arm away and went back inside silently. He noticed that she did ditch the coat, tossing it on the couch.

“Hey, no!” he yelled after her, “Hang it up proper!”

She ignored him.

That’s exactly what she had done when they finally reached this planet. Stranded across multiple systems, they had fought their way back to this one. It was the last interplanetary customs they’d have to go though, and they’d be back where they started, back to timeship sweet timeship. He had telepathically shouted into her very noisy brain to let him do the talking, making up a polite lie to the customs agent and wrapping an arm around her waist. He remembered how her nails dug into his skin. She had to have her say, spilling her guts on their travel and getting them immediately thrown into a week long quarantine before they could proceed.

Maybe he was glad of it.

He watched her ditch her boots and peel off her striped socks, hiking up her pants so even more of her leg was exposed and free from the wool clothing. Such a simple action, and yet he wondered how the room could get that much hotter so quickly. A sweaty hand ran through her short hair as she wandered into the kitchen. She opened the freezer, and the loud crunching noises told him she’d eaten an ice cube.

To call their state the last few days peace was a lie. But he wasn’t ready to let her go back to bouncing around the universe without him, not yet. 

A door slammed on the other side of the wall. Their neighbors must have arrived. They were also shouting at each other, muffled pieces of their agitated conversation sounding through the thin walls.

“At least you’re not the only intolerable imbecile in the universe,” the Doctor said, her mouth still full of ice.

Through the open door to the deck, the voices were louder to the Master. One of them, a woman’s, became clearer, especially after he heard their back door open. The voice’s pitch and the accent were suddenly decipherable, and his hearts started to thump noisily. Maybe he was just hallucinating in the heat. He swung out the back door, racing to the small rail that separated their deck from their neighbors, grasping it with both hands.

The figure on the deck turned, and the Master stood face to face with himself.

\--

“Oh honey, look what the cat dragged in.”

Missy eyed the man across the rail. She scanned him head to toe with that predatory laser stare, a small smile pulling at her lips. He was attractive, if not a little overdressed in long purple pants and a waistcoat and rolled up sleeves. Then again so was she, in her heavy skirt and petticoats and blouse. She’d ditched the jacket but still the sun beat down. The man cocked his head, and she felt herself instinctually mirror him in response. There was something about his energy even just standing there that tickled her.

The Doctor was still inside, checking for LED lights or monologueing to the dust mites or some other nonsense. She rolled her eyes back to towards the condo and hollered.

“I SAID COME LOOK AT THIS.”

“Alright, alright, alright,” the Doctor responded, his voice getting louder as he made his way outside, folding his gangly limbs and wild head of hair through the glass door and out to join them, “What have we said about the bellowing?”

“Oh, like you never bellow? Mr. I can only express my emotions in long groans at different octaves.”

She didn’t let him get a word in and instead turned back to their new, strange bedfellow. She gestured dramatically.

“What do you think?”

“About?” The Doctor’s eyebrows shot skyward as he looked around.

She could smack his stupid face, but decided to save that for a later time.

“Our _neighbor_ ,” she hissed.

Finally, his clear eyes seemed to land on the young man, who had since broken into a wide grin.

“Oh, yes, very nice. He’s very, uh, sturdy.”

Missy could never get over how unbelievable thick and boring he could be. She’d gotten them together for seven days, a nice all expenses paid little trip for the low, low price of pretending they’d contracted some horrible flu, and he had the audacity to still be mad at her for disrupting yet another of his how to be a hero training sessions. She’d gotten them both out of class, and here he was acting like she’d flung his precious earth into the nearest black hole.

“Oh, look at that sun!” the Doctor exclaimed, racing behind her to stare at it without bothering to go back for his sunglasses, “Tidally locked!”

At times like these she didn’t have many words for him.

“Take your velvet jacket off, dear, before you get Time Lord heat stroke.”

The man in purple straight up cackled, before his face fell back into a serious stare. Missy was really starting to like him.

“You’ve got yourself a Grade A idiot there,” he contributed.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“Don’t I?” he said with a glisten in his eye, before moving on, “I’m O. Call me O.”

She gave him a wide smile, finding it not entirely fake.

“Delightful.”

O grasped the handrail and leaned in, in a conspiratorial whisper.

“And don’t worry, I’ve got an idiot of my own.”

“Are they staring directly at the sun without sunglasses right now?” Missy challenged.

“No, she’s inside breaking her teeth on ice cubes.”

“She?” Missy hummed, the intricate wheels of her mind beginning to turn, “I’d love to meet her.”

O shook his head, chuckling, again like he had an inside joke hidden behind those dark eyes.

“I’m sure you would.”

Missy couldn’t tell if his penetrating stare was a threat or a challenge, but she met it steadily, dangerously. This enigma was far more interesting than anything the Doctor had planned. She laughed softly and so did he. They were interrupted.

“So if you look only a couple degrees below the sun, you can see where we were supposed to land—”

Missy turned back to the interrupting Doctor briskly.

“Oh, sorry, were you in the middle of something?” the Doctor asked, without waiting for a reply, “Well, you can get back to your staring contest or battle of wits or whatever it was later. Since we can’t actually do your exercise, we can still go over what you _would_ do—”

“Fine!” she said loudly in a huff to stop him.

If the Doctor wanted to waste a perfectly good week teaching her moral lessons on a chalkboard, then she could play the pupil. She needed to lose a few more articles of clothing, however, since the petticoats just weren’t going to cut it on this stupidly, blazingly hot planet.

The Doctor turned to exit back into the slightly cooler house. Missy gave O one final wink. The Doctor had his plans, and she was rapidly spinning her own.

\--

The Doctor had her head in the freezer when she heard the back door open and shut behind her. The Master was back.

“You know what we need to put on the grocery list,” she said, pulling her head out, “Ice cream.”

She read the intent in his eyes seconds before he made contact. The Master’s hand found her hip. Before she could protest, he’s pushed her into the corner of the kitchen where the counters met. His dark eyes darted around her face, as if the answers to the universe were hidden there, just below her skin. He was trying to process something. Then he smiled, and twisted his body, flexing his hands near her face, giddy and childlike.

“Guess who our neighbors are?”

She really couldn’t guess.

“Oh, the Emperor and his guard! No, wait, the really nice couple that live down the street from the Khans—oh, they’re so sweet—”

“Stop, no! It’s us!”

She could feel his eyes scrutinizing her face for her reaction.

“Us?”

Now, she needed a moment to process.

“Missy,” he declared, baring his teeth, and already the Doctor’s hearts were in her chest, “And you.”

“Which me?”

He furrowed his brow slightly.

“The tall grey-haired one.”

“Oh, that’s specific,” she replied sarcastically.

“The one that hung out with Missy, come on!”

“Oh, right.”

He nodded his head once emphatically.

“Just like I always hang out with you,” he added casually.

“Right.” She didn’t sound convincing.

“Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes, as the Doctor became very aware that she was cornered, “You’re not hanging out with other Masters behind my back?”

“You’re not hanging out with other Doctors behind my back?” she retorted.

“No.”

“No.”

He nodded vigorously.

“Good, glad we cleared that up.”

He was watching her again, those eyes that knew her so well staring straight through her. His breath was warm against her already flushed cheeks and all of a sudden her chest felt very tight.

“Ugh. Stop breathing on me.”

She wiggled out of his grasp, ducking under his arm to escape. She stopped herself before she left the kitchen, pivoting back to him.

“Wait, how are they even here?” she asked, not necessarily to him, “If they’re our past selves, we should remember. I hadn’t been to this planet before today. At least not that I recall.” Another thought struck her. “Did you tell them who we are?”

He shook his head, letting out a smug, self-satisfied smile.

“Nope, Missy thinks I’m just O.”

On one hand she supposed that was good. Still, multiple Time Lords had been in one place before, and the time streams hadn’t collapsed yet, and if they really were going to be here a week, then maybe lying wasn’t the best course of action.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” the Master continued, bounding up to her and invading her personal space again, “That lying isn’t the best course of action. But think about it this way…I don’t care? Besides, this time, _this_ time, I’ve got the jump on me.”

He waggled his eyebrows, but the Doctor wasn’t impressed.

“So you want to do to Missy exactly what was done to her last time?” the Doctor judged, “She gets jumped by another of her selves without any warning?”

His hands were on her shoulders again, his eyes level and direct.

“Last time,” he said remarkably calmly, “I _was_ her. Getting sabotaged out of the blue.”

The Doctor rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” she replied, “She’s probably over there now planning how she’s going to dissect you.”

“Or how to dissect _you,”_ he whispered, “She’s so eager to meet you. I can imagine her thoughts—sorry, my thoughts—right now.” He squeezed his eyes shut in mock imagination. “Oh, and they are not G-rated thoughts. Oh—” He took a quick breath in. “That’s dirty, honey, just filthy…”

The Doctor froze as he trailed off.

She’d been so stupid. She didn’t know how she’d missed it. If they were really going to be in this house for a week, then she needed to put her guard back up, no matter how much those stupid wide brown eyes pleaded and pried at her exhausted hearts. She folded her arms over her chest and sighed heavily.

“Alright,” she stated plainly, “That’s it. I know you’re lying. Ha ha. You got me. Very funny.”

A loud knock sounded from the back window. Peering through the glass, dressed in loud Hawaiian shirts, stood Missy and the grey-haired Doctor.

The Master smirked at her.

“You were saying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’m trying something where I’m posting the first chapter NOT having written the rest yet. This is not usually how I roll because I always worry about finishing, but I’m hoping it might entice me to write something longer. So all in all this is my way of saying I have no idea where this is going and can make no promises, except that I'm gonna try to make these fools thirst and suffer as long as possible.


	2. two

The Doctor refused to take the shades off. The shirt enough was ridiculous, although he did have to admit he was a much more acceptable temperature. Missy had cheated, wearing hers over a black tank top she’d also found in the upstairs closet. Leave it to her to find a way to get cleavage out of a Hawaiian shirt. Still, he was glad she was the only person to see him in this ridiculous get-up.

Well, her and the two strangers.

To be fair, they both look ridiculous as well and far too warm. Her with her blue and rainbows, him with his purple plaid, both of them with their too short pants. Their neighbors were clowns. He wanted to sneak into Missy’s mind and chuckle with her about it, but they weren’t quite at that stage yet.

The two shifted awkwardly, sitting on the fireplace mantle across from the couch. He couldn’t imagine it ever got cold enough here to use a fireplace.

“So where are you from?” the woman asked, followed immediately by the man shoving his shoulder into hers. 

“Oh, you know, here and there,” the Doctor replied, slightly more interested in the way their condo looked the exact mirror image of theirs, right down to the cheap art on the walls.

“And you?” Missy asked.

“Oh, you know, here and—” the woman started, before getting a half elbow in the ribs and changing course, “A little to the left of that one galaxy, second star to the right, and straight on until—oh wait, no, sorry, that’s Peter Pan.”

“You’re odd,” the Doctor heard himself say.

Missy cleared her throat and gave the two a fake smile.

“You’ll have to forgive him. He’s going in the head.”

“Oh no,” he corrected, pointing vaguely, “That’s a compliment. Far better to be odd than to be a bore.”

The woman across from him broke into a wide smile, cheeks flushed, and the Doctor found himself momentarily transfixed. Something about her was so familiar. Perhaps one of those faces that in an impossibly long life unfortunately fades into oblivion sooner than you’d like. Or maybe she was much too similar to someone he had once known.

“So,” Missy interjected, leaning forward, “Are you two married?”

The woman’s face shifted into a beet red, as she started to shake her head violently. The man cackled.

“Not any more than you are,” he responded quickly, “Sorry, I mean, you two aren’t married, are you?”

The Doctor opened his mouth to respond, but Missy beat him to it.

“Oh, no, he’s been chasing me for years,” she remarked, “He’ll keep chasing me until the day I catch him.”

Missy, as usual, wasn’t entirely wrong, but the Doctor was more interested in their neighbors.

The man looked over at the woman, and she at him. It was only a spark, a silent communication that lasted seconds, but it was one that held the depth of two people instantly reading the other’s mind.

Sometimes the Doctor missed too much, missed obvious things screaming in his face. And sometimes he saw the slightest movement, clear as day, and the entire scene with all its permutations would unfold before him instantly, like a great life size pop-up book.

“Oh,” he observed, rising from the couch, “Oh, now I get it. You two didn’t make any sense at first. The hideous clothes, the being vague about your origins, the laughter at the thought of marriage, this whole over the top love-hate thing you have happening.”

He paced towards the window before turning back to them.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t see it before. And don’t worry, we can be discreet. Can’t we, Missy?”

Missy looked caught off guard.

“Can’t we?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she said with total commitment, hopelessly lost, “Discreet is our middle name.”

The Doctor clasped his hands together.

“Congratulations on your elopement.”

The man started laughing again, and kept laughing, and was soon laughing so hard he was crying, his face twisted into his companion's shoulder. The woman’s cheeks had cooled a shade, and she fought to suppress her own smile. Finally, she gave in and simply closed her eyes. She took in a sharp breath and gently pushed the man’s head away.

“That’s it,” she conceded, “We’re ending this.”

The woman rose and crossed to the Doctor, who as still standing by the wide windows.

“But,” he stammered, “You’re in disguise—you’re pretending to hate each other—”

“Sorry, we didn’t tell you right away,” she began, “But there’s really no easy way.”

“Oh come on, Doctor,” the man prodded from the fireplace, “Spit it out.”

The woman turned to give him a death glare, as the Doctor’s brain jumped immediately into overtime.

“Doctor?” he managed to get out.

“I’m you,” she declared with a small smile.

He wasn’t going to be fooled that easily. He opened his mouth to protest.

“Use your sonic sunglasses,” she gently reminded, “you fool.”

His hand found them, and he did a quick scan. Two hearts. Biometrics were all the same, but biometrics could be faked. He ripped the sunglasses off. Clear hazel eyes stared back, eyes that were full of life and loss and eons come and gone, soft but not enough to hide all the times they hadn’t been. She reached out and gently touched the bare skin on his hand.

_It’s me._

It felt like he was talking to himself. But it was her, in his head. She was him. It was improbable, and probably dangerous, but his hearts swelled staring down at his future self.

He would keep on _living_.

If she was the Doctor, though, then the man—He shoved the glasses back on his face. Two hearts by the fireplace, two on the couch, and double the trouble—

“Master,” he managed to get out. The man clapped his hands together and catapulted himself to his feet.

“Exactly,” he answered triumphantly.

Just like the Doctor recognized his own visage, he now recognized the familiar manic depths in those dark eyes darting from Doctor to Doctor to Master.

“The Doctor!” Missy exclaimed, leaping up from the couch and moving faster than usual without her skirt.

She was between the two Doctors too quickly, her hands finding this new Doctor’s shoulders, twisting her body away from the old one. Missy took her in, hungrily.

“I have to say, remeeting you is always a treat.”

Her lips curled deliciously around the word, and one of the Doctor's knew what was about to happen a moment before the other. Missy’s hands buried themselves on either side of that small blonde head, yanking her forward and planting an aggressive kiss on those new lips.

The Doctor was watching Missy kiss the Doctor—well, kiss her, except she was the Doctor, in the future. The other Doctor seemed equally caught off guard, hands flailing, unsure of where exactly to land, as Missy managed to pin her against the far wall.

He remembered being kissed like that by Missy, how your instincts told you to twist away, but your mind couldn’t quite catch up. He supposed _she_ had to remember what it was like being kissed by Missy too. There had to be laws against this sort of thing—watching your sometimes enemy sometimes lover kiss a future version of yourself.

Already confusing emotions tied themselves into impossible knots in his chest.

\--

She was soft. The hair, the skin, the lips, and she tasted like…no, she wouldn’t go there. That was far too sappy. Missy hoped she lived long enough to play with this regeneration, because although she loved the old fool that was hers and hers alone, she couldn’t get over the small, muscular form squirming beneath her.

The Doctor started to pull away, but Missy hooked an arm around her slight waist and pressed the two bodies together tightly one last time, ignoring the sweat that threatened to glue them together. They could shower later, or maybe wash it all off in the hot tub. This was going to be a fun week indeed.

Missy finally pulled her head back, letting their lips separate. The Doctor let her head fall back against the wall, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Missy wasn’t ready to let her go quite yet, though.

Missy twisted back to her Doctor, an eyebrow arched over an impossibly blue eye.

“She’s cuter than you. Tastes better too.” She rolled her head back to the woman trapped against the wall, running her finger along the Doctor’s jawline. She nodded her head slightly towards the Master. “And god knows he wasn’t going to do it anytime soon, sweetheart.”

The look in the Doctor’s eyes was clouded, full of confusion and a little far away. Missy heard the voice of her future self behind her.

“It’s weirdly incestuous, isn’t it?” the Master cajoled.

There was no clear response from her Doctor. She could imagine him blushing and stammering. Judging by the new Doctor’s refusal to make eye contact, she was cut from the same cloth. They both turned away at any mention of sex despite formerly going around and snogging every moderately attractive human this side of Jupiter.

“She’s my Master, and you’re her Master and—and I don’t like this very much,” the distinctive voice of her Doctor concluded briskly, “Missy, that’s enough. Let her—let me go.”

Missy wasn’t one to take orders, but the fact remained that being this close was generating too much heat. She took a step back, forcing herself to peel her eyes off the figure still frozen against the wall. She pivoted back to her Doctor. She was impressed, his mouth wasn’t hanging open too wide, although the eyes were bugging out a tad. She loved his shocked look, loved catching him off guard, especially when he spent so much time pretending he wasn’t looking.

She scrunched up her nose and advanced.

“Don’t be jealous, dear. It’s not a good color on you.” She turned back to their other selves, throwing one final quiet tease over her shoulder to him. “Besides, you’ve gotten more than your fair share.”

The other Doctor took a few stumbling steps away from the wall, seeming still to be floating on her own plane of existence. The Master’s feet were firmly on the ground. He bounded up to Missy.

“Oh, it’s good to see you again, Missy,” he beamed.

The vague menace behind his eyes that enticed her when they first met now sang a different tune. Playing with herself could be fun, but she could also easily get burned. Better to take the offensive.

“So where are you in the timeline?” she asked, thrusting a proud chin out, “In the future obviously, but how far? I mean does this thing drag on for eons or do we implode within the year?”

“I’d love to tell you,” the Master teased, seeming to mean it as his grin threatened to escape his face, “But I can’t.”

She wondered what an appropriate level of violence to inflict upon herself would be. The Doctor stepped in.

“I think it’s best if we just leave this. We can’t risk messing with the timeline.”

He remained boring as ever.

“What and spend an entire week pretending we’re not living to next to ourselves?” Missy countered.

“I’m with her,” the Master added rapidly, discovering that what he said was very amusing, “Imagine that—I agree with myself!”

Missy took him in from head to toe again, this time with very different ideas spinning around her brain. The loudest thought was that they need to get him out of those ridiculous clothes.

“Well,” she breathed, “We’ll have an entire week to do that. First, you must be burning up in those plaid…things.”

She intentionally smacked her shoulder into the Doctor, although given their height different it was more just the middle of his arm.

“We, uh, have some more shirts,” the Doctor offered, pawing at the multicolored travesty on his chest.

“A wonderful idea, love,” she said, as if she hadn’t prompted the idea.

She spun around to leave, keeping her eyes on the others as long as possible. The other Doctor still stood flushed in the middle of the room, and the other Master leaned forward, eager and mischievous.

“We’ll be back,” Missy placated, “with appropriate clothing.”

The Doctor opened the door for her, but she caught his furtive glance back at their counterparts. Common sense told them to tread carefully. Thankfully neither of them had an abundance of it. As they headed back into their condo, she couldn’t help but ponder.

“Well, I certainly think we look good. We’ll have to wait and see if it’s a glow up or not.”

“Glow up?”

“Come on, gramps,” she teased, opening the door for him, “It’s what the kids are saying this millennia.”

He paused right inside the door, turning around and reaching behind her to shut it. He kept his hand up higher on the frame. She hated when he did this, used his height to tower over he like she couldn’t take him down with one well-placed jab.

“Tell me, Missy,” he spoke, with those earnest blue eyes boring into her, “Did you plan this?”

She shifted her weight and kept her chin level and defiant.

“Are you having fun yet?” she purred.

“ _Missy_.”

God, there was something about her name on his lips. Her name was special only to them, theirs for this moment in time, even though as had just been made painfully clear, their moment would eventually end. He knew, though, that _that_ word, at the right time, could pry the truth from her cold hearts.

“No,” she answered softly, still with a sharp bite, “I didn’t know they’d be here.”

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and she remembered how easy it was to get his guard down. They flew back open before she could decide on a move.

“Then why so adamant that we come here?”

She pushed herself up, closer to that chiseled, beautiful face.

“Maybe I have other plans.”

With that she ducked out from under his arm, escaping into the living room, leaving him leaning against the window. As she squeezed by, she swore she heard two hearts thumping as loudly as hers.

\--

The Doctor was still standing in the middle of the floor, her eyes slightly out of focus. The Master turned with a sharp breath in. He was reeling.

“Now, that is not something you get to do every day. Well, I mean it is the second time I’ve gotten to do it, but man…what a trip!”

He couldn’t be still, so he paced, back towards the Doctor.

“The look on his face—your face! _God,_ I love being a time traveler. Ah!” He raised his gaze to the ceiling and opened his hands in happy remembrance. “And when he thought we were eloping. Oh, you can’t make this stuff up! I think it was good timing to reveal ourselves then, don’t you?”

He pivoted. He realized what he’d been missing in his exuberance—his sparring partner. Her gaze was still beyond him, far beyond the room.

“Doctor?” he asked, before taking a few steps towards her and repeating himself, “Doctor!”

Light eyes snapped to him, the full weight of her presence returning. The universe seemed that much righter with her staring him down instead of being terrifyingly absent. She still didn’t speak.

“What are our next moves?” he continued, “Cuz I think I’d like to see you and Missy go at it again, if you don’t mind me suggesting.”

Maybe he was intentionally provoking her, but wasn’t that the point of them? It didn’t work. She turned, silent and stoic, and took a few steps towards the kitchen. He needed to get her attention. He could hear the noisy buzzing of her thoughts, indistinct and unclear. He intruded.

_Dammit, Doctor._

That halted her exit, although she didn’t turn. She responded after a beat, quickly and telepathically, her sweaty back still to him.

_It’s too hot for this._

_For what?_

No movement, no response from her. He nagged.

_For what, Doctor?_

She spun and her words erupted at him, spilling out of her head and into this stifling physical plane, echoing off the walls.

“For you! For her! And me! For this whole fucked up thing!”

After barking the words at him, she flew at the stairs, but he wasn’t letting her leave it like that. She had only made it a few steps when he caught her ankle. When she tried to continue up, he brought her small form down to the carpeted stairs with a soft thud. He stayed standing, bracing himself against the wall and railing, as she twisted to look up at him.

“May I remind you,” he whispered forcefully, “That these walls are paper thin, and our neighbors are _us._ ”

She stared up at him, startled at having been so detained. Those shifting, color-changing eyes finally made contact with his, and he wondered if he’d ever have the guts to do what Missy did only moments ago, which was an odd thought since he was Missy and Missy was him.

“You can’t just kiss people,” she hissed at him, as if reading his mind.

“What?” he exclaimed, pretending to be more offended than he really was, “That wasn’t me! That was her.”

“Well, you can’t,” she blurted out, “You just _can’t._ ”

As soon as she spat the words at him, she dropped her gaze to the stairs, her eyes unable to look up and meet his. The scratchy, pale green carpet was suddenly very fascinating to her.

“There are boundaries,” she explained unconvincingly, “And you…you _can’t_.”

Multiple realizations crashed together in his brain at once, like supernovas colliding, and suddenly he was chilled, goosebumps racing across his exposed arms and the back of his neck. He sank down to the stairs, down to her level.

“Do you want _me_ to kiss you, Doctor?”

Her eyes darted up to meet his, her mouth parting ever so slightly. She licked her lips, and the goosebump situation intensified. Her shoulders tensed, her brow furrowed, and she pushed herself away from him, rolling over on her side to face the wall.

“I want you to go away,” she said, voice muffled against the beige, cracking paint.

He didn’t think smiling was the response she was looking for, but he couldn’t help himself. For someone with zero impulse control, the levels of repression there were staggering. She’d fight him until the universe collapsed in on itself, but letting him love her was as foreign a territory as she’d ever find. Since he’d come crashing back into the Doctor’s life as O, they’d been literally in each other’s faces, with barely an inch to spare. How satisfying was it to find that what she feared was being even closer.

“I can’t,” he replied cheekily, “Not for seven days.”

She groaned into the wall and flattened herself further against it. Part of him wondered if she would truly try to stay there the entire week, just a useless lump on the stairs.

“You know,” he tried, picking at the carpet as he watched her squirm against the stairs, “We’re modern, sophisticated Time Lords. We can talk openly about these things.”

“We’re none of those things,” she bit back, although the bite was lost as wall ate up her voice, “We will not talk about it, we will not acknowledge it, and you will give me at least three feet of space at all times.”

“Sure,” he said, with no intention of doing so.

Usually he liked the Doctor domineering, baring her teeth and daring him on, but he had to say that bashful Doctor was tickling him too. Perhaps, it was a holdover from Missy, when he loved making the Doctor squirm.

“Okay,” she spoke, face still against the wall, but her tone slightly more assured, “I’m way too hot like this, so I’m going to roll over. Don’t you _dare_ touch me or I _will_ sever whatever limb it is from your body without mercy.”

He put his hands up in mock surrender, and she rolled onto her back. He watched her eyes dance across the ceiling as they avoided landing anywhere remotely in his vicinity. She let out a heavy breath that she must have been holding for some time, and they laid there in surprisingly comfortable silence.

“You know what you need, Doctor?” he finally said.

“Do I even want to know?”

“A strong drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: it’s a slow burn  
> Also me: Missy’s gonna make out with 13 in the second chapter  
> Also I'm in pronoun hell because they all have the SAME NAMES but DIFFERENT GENDERS, so I apologize if it's ever unclear who I'm referring to.


	3. three

The Doctor rather liked the Hawaiian shirt. She paired it with some striped swim trunks she’d found upstairs, and with nothing hugging her skin too close or pinching her in unideal places, it made the stifling temperature that much more bearable. Downstairs, she could hear the other three. Well, she could hear the Masters, riffing off one another, punctuated by the clatter of someone moving what sounded like a vast quantity of bottles.

She should probably go down there and save her past self from that potentially deadly duo.

As she moved to leave, she caught her reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. She’d only cared about her appearance in select regenerations, and certainly not that much in this one. But there was a different way people, especially on earth, looked at her in this form. She didn’t feel different, but all of a sudden she was. She found herself attracted to the same souls she always did, but the following up on it was all back to front.

The kiss from Missy had been the most she’d ever done in this body. She didn’t like the loss of control, hated hands on her without warning, but she couldn’t ignore that warm feeling that pooled inside her when Missy’s soft hands found her cheeks and waist. When she’d pulled away, the warm feeling remained, as did a turmoil that wasn’t going to be easily sorted.

The Doctor shook her head and pushed her hair behind her ears. She resolved to keep her distance. The universe was infinite and full of much more interesting things than a quickened pulse because someone stood too close to you.

When she went downstairs, she was not prepared for the sheer amount of alcohol Missy and the other Doctor had procured. It took a lot to get any one of them drunk, but they’d filled up half the dining table with an eclectic mix of bottles of all shapes and sizes.

The Master—her Master—looked up as she thundered down to the bottom of the stairs. He swung around the table to approach her. He had put on his floral shirt, leaving the top few buttons undone. She averted her gaze, trying not the take in the parts of him usually covered by multiple layers of clothing. He had no such tact. His dark eyes quickly flitted up and down her body, and she prayed he wouldn’t say anything. Before she could worry too far, he was offering her a clear glass full of what looked like TARDIS engine fluid.

“What is it?”

“Does it matter?” he shot back, “It’s strong.”

She took the glass and took a sip. It was strong, but not unpalatable. He stood there as she took another deeper drink, thirsty eyes on her, and suddenly that was too much.

“You’re within three feet,” she ordered flatly, “Please step back.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he taunted, his feet remaining firmly planted, “Even your pacifist nun techniques would require touching me.”

She bared her teeth and leered at him.

“A drink in your face is contactless.”

She could see the excitement flare in his eyes.

“Now that’s more like it.”

“Step. Back.”

He bit his lip. She wondered what she would do if he tested her. It’d be a shame to lose the drink, but there was a whole table full of other options. Thankfully he acquiesced, stepping slightly to the side. She went to join herself and Missy at the table.

The Doctor was slowly sniffing each of the bottles while deciding on a drink. Missy had an entire bottle of what looked like high proof something in her hand and was perched on the table, legs crossed, taking the occasional swig.

“So, I’ve been wondering,” the Doctor started, addressing her other self as he handled an ornate gold bottle. She paused to take a sip of out of her own concoction.

“Is the planet completely tidally locked or in two one resonance?” the Doctor finished for her.

There were advantages to having two of the same brain in the room.

“I mean finding out the answer is easy,” he continued.

 _Duh,_ she wanted to say, but that seemed rude to say to your past self. She simply shrugged.

“You just ask a local how long a day is,” they each said simultaneously.

“Ugggggghhhhhhhh,” Missy interjected loudly, continuing the unintelligible sound as she laid back on the table and rolled side to side, “uuuuummmmmeerrrrrhhhhhaaaaa!”

Neither Doctor had a response. Missy shot straight up again.

“How are you both this mind numbingly _boring?”_

The Doctors both shifted their weight judgmentally, taking in the melodramatic woman on the table.

“What would you rather us do, Missy?” the Doctor, the other one, said.

“Play a drinking game, fool around in the hot tub, throw ourselves off the roof! Anything, but _learn._ ” The contempt was clear in her voice.

“How about this,” the other Doctor offered, “every time I want to strangle you, and I don’t, I’ll take a drink.”

Missy took a swig out of her bottle and leaned forward.

“You’ll be dead from alcohol poisoning in a few hours. Burn up a precious regeneration.”

The tall Doctor gave her a faint mocking laugh, which she copied. They trailed off into a sneer each, but the Doctor standing with her drink in hand didn’t catch anything after that. She felt her stomach turn as she realized what had been said, and it was as if she were watching a play, a tragedy for which she knew the ending and they didn’t. She could only watch helplessly as the characters blundered around, oblivious of their fate.

“You just want to tell them, don’t you?” His voice startled her, low as it was. The Master was watching over her shoulder, in her space again, his words meant for her ears only, “But you’re morally against paradoxes, I know. Missy said it. You’re no fun.”

He was provoking her; that’s how they operated. More than ever, she wished he’d just stop. This world altering, universe shattering secret coursed through their veins and theirs alone, and all he could play were games. If he could stop hating her for two seconds then maybe he could see it.

“Or maybe you would give anything to be him again. Tortured and tired, but not in this way. This eternal, unending way.”

His breath was hot against her ear.

“Does it ever bother you that at the end of everything, you’re going to be left alone and abandoned? Again?”

She snapped. She downed her drink, and in two wide steps she was at the table, ripping the bottle out of Missy’s hands, and pivoting to dump the contents onto the Master’s head. It made an anticlimactic glub glub glub sound as it poured out of the bottle slowly, dripping down his face and onto his shoulders. He just stood there, his mouth open in a half grin, glee sparkling in his eyes. It seemed to him this was the best thing that could have happened all night, and he vocalized that, laughing at her.

The fury was white hot in her belly, hotter than the stupid air.

She turned and smashed the bottle on the table, startling the other two. She jabbed at him with the broken end of the bottle, and the Master jumped back, but that still didn’t stop the mocking, grating laugh ringing in her ears. Hatred overwhelmed, and she wanted nothing more than to make him feel what she did.

She lunged at him but was stopped by hands around her shoulders, firm and familiar. She recognized the hands that reached around her as hers, only in the past. He calmly removed the jagged bottle, wrapping a tender hand around her wrist, and memories of that hand and those veins and wrinkles came flooding back. Her hearts began to slow their rapid pace, and the knot of rage began to dissolve.

All the while, the Master cackled triumphantly.

\--

The Doctor stole a look at his older self. She sat on the back patio next to him, back against the wall, staring into the distance. He’d been expecting conflict, but not a straight up bar brawl. Still, he knew himself. Whatever the Master had done to provoke her, she was probably justified.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked lightly.

“We both know we’re not very good at that,” she replied.

He shifted, finding it hard to keep his limbs folded in this position on the hard tile of the patio. He would look forward to having a body that didn’t show how old they really were, and that could sit on the damn ground without something complaining.

“So how’s the trade-off?” he tried again, “Harder to reach the top shelf, I imagine, but crawling through air ducts must be way more manageable.”

She laughed lightly.

“It’s actually pretty good.”

“And the uh…” he gestured vaguely with his hands, as she looked at him in confusion, “You know the…what’s it called…”

She still didn’t get him, scrunching up her face as he continued to bumble. He wondered how he ever managed to talk to another person, when literally talking to himself felt like his last two brain cells screaming at each other in the dark.

“Woman,” he remembered.

“Oh, that. It’s good. Different. Well, the same honestly, but different.”

“I seem to recall thinking about it,” the Doctor confessed to the Doctor, “Like something we’d missed. But we’d always seemed so sure each regeneration. Do you like it?” He caught himself, worrying about offending himself. “Oh, is that too forward?”

“I’m you,” she responded, with a slight roll of the eyes, “You don’t have to worry. I know what thoughts have bounced around that easily distracted brain, because I’ve had them too.”

He suddenly couldn’t stop himself from thinking every thought he’d ever had about any form of theirs, or the Master’s, or River's, or a random stranger in the night. They were never aggressive thoughts, almost nonexistent, just passing observations in a sea of a million others. It could be a challenging observation to make—age, gender, and more often slipping out of their ancient grasp.

The only thing that stopped him most often, in any creature, was the eyes. Missy’s were so clear yet so unreadable, this new Master’s so ravenous and pained, even those of his own form, sitting next to him, so distinctive. His future had eyes that were hard to forget.

“You have eyes,” he blurted out, “Sorry, nice ones.”

Those eyes darted over to him, and she furrowed her brow slightly.

“I thought we were above all that,” she reprimanded, with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh, yes,” he responded in mock seriousness.

That lightened the mood. He took a beat and then turned back to her.

“But,” he pondered, “Does that mean we have to completely ignore it? Bodies still respond.”

“Yeah, it’s inconvenient,” she replied with a huff.

She turned back to the view, watching the static world of the resort, still brightly lit in the unchanging sun. He could see the silent commotion in her brain written on her face. He tried to connect the dots in the mind that was almost his but wasn’t. Why had they learned to compartmentalize the big things but not something as straightforward as this?

“Actually,” she confessed, “When I changed I first thought, you know who I’d love to ask about this but can’t? Missy.”

He knew what that meant as soon as the words left her lips. She instantly realized her mistake, twisting her head to him, eyes full of mild panic that he felt in his gut because knew literally that exact feeling, when your mouth was faster than your filter.

“I mean, Missy is—” she began.

He put up a gentle hand to stop her and met her gaze tenderly.

“Spoilers,” he said wryly.

Despite his calm appearance, it burned through him that she knew and he didn’t. This time it did feel unfair, a cruel aligning of the universe that brought the exact person who knew he and Missy’s fate to them, and she couldn’t speak it. He had intentionally been ignoring the clues this future Doctor and Master inadvertently broadcasted every second they were together. But despite his best efforts, his mind saw a puzzle and wanted to solve it.

She saved his curiosity from getting the better of him.

“What do we like about them?” she asked, frustration tinging her voice, “Why do we keep doing this?”

“I thought you knew my thoughts.”

“Remind me,” she countered, “We’re forgetful.”

“Well, I guess…”

He trailed off. It wasn’t an easy question, and certainly one that he’d asked himself internally a thousand times already. And now here he was, asking himself that question out loud. What did it mean that she hadn’t figured it out yet either? He gave the only piece he’d figured out so far.

“They know us.”

She nodded her head, a bit sadly.

“That’s what I used to think.”

He knew he shouldn’t push on that question. The air was heavy, and the Doctor didn’t like it. He went in a direction he knew they both could manage.

“Can you remember—how long is week on this planet?”

He’d half figured it out, but wanted to hear it from his own lips. And maybe against astronomical odds, he’d grown another brain in his next life.

She shuffled forward so she had a clear view of the sky.

“Well, it’s a human colony, albeit an early one,” she began, “so I assume they tried to line it up with their own calendar. Human circadian rhythms are persistent; they couldn’t escape them if they tried. Still, a full day is a full solar revolution or possibly two. Assuming it’s at least more than one, we could measure the degree change in the sun’s arc across the sky, and extrapolate—”

“Attention, citizens and guests,” a loud, monotonous voice sounded across the manufactured landscape, and the Doctor was able to trace it back to a loudspeaker hidden by the pond, “It is now night. Sleep well, don’t get sunburn, and this notification will sound again at 0600 hours to remind you that it is morning.”

“Oh wow, this _is_ early,” he remarked, “They didn’t even bother installing a rudimentary day-night simulator. Just a little notification like you’re an iPhone.”

She was still staring up, face open to the world above, and he wasn’t sure if she had heard anything he’d said. He probably wouldn’t listen to himself either.

“Well, if it’s now officially evening,” he continued, “You know what I think?”

His future self pried her eyes away from the sky and turned back to him.

“What?”

“I think we should bring some of those bottles out here. The ones you haven’t broken yet, that is, and see how much these forms can take.”

She broke into a relieved smile.

“Oh, yes, _please._ ”

\--

The Master’s stained shirt was off, and he had his whole head in the bathroom sink. Missy watched closely, her brain analyzing the scene before her. These bodies were ultimately inconsequential, but how _fun_ they could be. Besides, no one ever got hurt sneaking a peek at their future. Well, not any more than was an honest day’s work.

She was still small, she noted, but strong, definitely strong. Not that it mattered much, since she could always get others to lift heavy things for her. Still, she was curious, imagining herself tracing those well-defined shoulders and back, wondering what exactly it would feel like. It was little things like that that she wouldn’t be able to appreciate once she was him, when all those muscles would be out of sight. The hair was alright, not as good as hers, but then again no one’s was.

He removed his head from the facet, the water running in rivulets down his dark skin and strong features. She winked as she handed him a towel, and something else pooled in those deep eyes, as he registered her advance.

She would miss Missy, but that figure she could definitely work with.

After wiping down his face and fluffing his hair with the towel, he set it next to the sink. The Master propped himself against the counter on one hand.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

She clicked her tongue.

“It’s a matter of necessity, dear,” she told him nonchalantly, “Gotta catch that thick idiot’s attention somehow.”

He gave a small frown and half a shake of his head.

“It never works out like that. They look at us and see what? A collection of atoms. God, she’ll be naming off the elements I’m made out of before—”

He stopped, eyes landing on her. Being stared at by herself was intense, and she hoped she had that effect on others. She was pretty sure she did. Still, she could watch her own wheels tick behind those eyes.

“You know what my favorite look on them is?” he prompted, “It’s yours too.”

She didn’t know if it was still the same, but she was curious.

“Remind me,” she urged.

“Hunger.”

He looked hungry. It wasn’t quite the same as hers, but it was close enough. She unfolded the replacement shirt in her hand and approached him. He let her put it on him, as she started slowly buttoning it from the bottom.

“Then you know what we do,” she advised lightly, intentionally taking her time, “Make them _starving_.”

She left the top two unbuttoned, pressing her thin hand into his chest.

“They’re a piece of work in any form," she continued, "And so fun to wind up or let down.”

That was the easiest explanation for their interest they both told themselves, ignoring that it was only a partial truth. He opened his mouth as if to respond and break the understanding silence, but they were interrupted.

A horrible noise echoed through the house.

“Is that—” the Master began.

“Singing?” they both finished simultaneously.

They followed the ear shattering sounds down to the ground floor and into the living room. Two ancient souls were sprawled across the floor, belting out some horrible human pop music, too drunk to even notice the presence of their enemies in the doorway. The newer Doctor was crooning from near the fireplace, as Missy’s Doctor banged wildly out of tempo on a stolen pot.

The other Master’s jaw might as well have been on the floor.

“We left them alone for ten minutes,” he stated.

Missy sighed. It’d been more like half an hour. Time flies when you’re having fun. He was wrong, but she wasn’t going to argue with herself, not when such a delicious treat sat before them. The Doctors were two lovely little drunk warbling birds.

“Using my highly developed skills of deduction,” she explained, “I think they probably chugged a two bottles of the Venusian vodka each.”

“Also judging by the 4 empty bottles on the fireplace,” her other self added, bemused.

“Oh, right, that.” She’d have to try harder at fooling herself.

The Doctors were getting louder and further off key the longer they stood there gawking. The Master turned to her, giddy.

“Well, what should we do?” He lowered his head, and those eyes bored into Missy again. “How do we best mess with them?”

The small, blonde Doctor went to stand back up, didn’t quite make it, and fell back down, giggling. The other Doctor resisted, but couldn’t suppress his own school girlish giggle as they both collapsed into one another.

“I know what they’d want us to do,” Missy assessed, “Put them safely to bed to sleep it off so they don’t end up burning this entire star system down.”

Possibilities began to weave elaborate tapestries in her brain. There was so much potential. Two of the most powerful being in the universe were practically begging for mischief, having downed enough alcohol to turn the blood of lesser beings into poison.

A tiny fraction of the Doctor’s inane ramblings must have rubbed off on her, since the thought that won was that anything without their proper consent seemed infinitely less fun. She wasn’t going to murder him, not this version, not yet, and anything in between seemed suddenly childish. Looking down at them, stumbling over each other, laughing like the drunken fools they were, she couldn’t seem to summon anything except pity for them. That was a new sensation.

“Oh, fine,” she said to the other Master, “Let’s stop this train wreck and put these time children to sleep.”

She moved to take the pot away from the Doctor, who placed it on his head when he saw her hands going for it. If she thought his height would stop her, he was wrong. She jumped for it and was victorious.

“Hey,” he scorned, “That’s my drum set.”

“It’s mine now, and if you’re extra good, I’ll give you something else to hit on.”

He was so far gone, he didn’t even register her lewd comment. She tossed the pot on the couch and reached out, grasping his hand in hers. That sobered him.

“Oh,” he let out softly, “You’re so warm.”

Missy was burning up, mostly from the heat. She tugged him towards the back door in one swift, violent gesture.

“Alright, big boy, your bed is next door.”

They didn’t make it to the bed. His heavy frame nearly crushed her as soon as they stumbled into their living room. She gave him one last push, enough to get his bony ass to the tweed couch, and he fell like a large tree being chopped down in the forest. Even after his crash landing, he was still coherent enough to roll onto his side.

“Hey, Missy,” he smiled and sung, “Hey, hey, hey Missy.”

“Oh, you stole that from me,” she admonished.

He grinned, although half of it was lost in the couch cushion.

“Missy, you’re—” He had to think really hard to find his next word. “You’re _smart.”_

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“No, I’m trying to say…”

A drunk hand shot out suddenly, grasping up at her from the couch. She wanted to roll her eyes, but it’d be lost on a man who potentially wouldn’t remember this in the morning. Reluctantly, she accepted the hand and found herself yanked back towards him. Wonder and affection breaking through a drunken haze stared up at her.

“You’re so smart, and I’m so smart, and we’re…”

He trailed off, but she had an inkling of what he meant.

_I know, dear._

She entered his thoughts ever so slyly and gently. He must have thought he was hallucinating, because wide eyes gazed up at her like she was the brightest star in an inky black sky.

“Now, don’t waste your breath, love,” she lectured, “You don’t know how many you have left. Go to sleep.”

His eyelids fluttered closed, masking those clear blue eyes. She thought about staying at his side, curling up into the chair next to him to make sure he woke up again. Baby steps, though, as there was only so much sentimentality a Time Lady could take.

She got up to close the curtains, darkening the stuffy room, and wondered how it was going on the other side of the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say I am finding these four incredibly complicated (there's a lot going on with emotionally repressed Time Lords) and I don't usually write even remotely sexual content (not that there's even that much here yet). This is all to say I’m flying into unknown territory with my writing skills and life experience and I’m trying not to doubt myself, but it’s hard and all I can promise here is that I’m doing my best. I also still have close to no idea where this is going, so thank you for reading, and we'll continue to be surprised by this rowdy group of characters together.


	4. four

The Doctor seemed at first a sleepy drunk. Missy wanted the Master to put her to bed, but he remembered being Missy, and how that soft bruise on their hearts just kept getting more tender and more painful the more they gave in. Admiring the Doctor’s long limbs and wonderfully imperfect symmetry and actually caring were two separate things.

She’d propped herself up against the sofa, still sitting on the floor, still singing off key under her breath. He waited until the door closed behind Missy, and then he was on top of her.

He swung a leg over her body, straddling her hips, and took her face in his hand. Her eyes shot up at him, although he could see that they were having difficulty focusing.

“You,” he whispered to her face, “are _so_ drunk.”

She furrowed her brow, that deep off center crease making an appearance.

“No, I’m not,” she slurred at him.

“You’re also tone deaf. Did you know that?”

The normal Doctor would have had a retort, but she just let her head fall forward limply. His hands caught her and pushed her head back up.

“You’re heavy,” she mumbled.

“I’m also breaking your three feet rule,” he dared, “What are you going to do about it?”

She rolled her head to one side, taking his hands with it. Her hazel eyes blinked at him, watery. She choked out a sob and immediately tried to suppress it. He’d been wrong. She was an _emotional_ drunk.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” she whimpered quietly.

If he’d known all he had to do to break her was get her drunk, most of this regeneration’s life would have been a lot easier. He sank down, truly putting all his weight on her and forced her face back to his. No rage danced behind those eyes, just that openness he tried to wring from her constantly. He would spend hours plotting how to catch her with her guard down, and now she’d just lowered all her defenses for him. She spoke before he could.

“If you want to die, then die,” she said, her voice cracking even though it was quiet to begin with, “but leave me out of it.”

He froze. This was all wrong. She was supposed to be the vulnerable one here. But even drunk, even with hushed, soft words, she knew how to hurt him.

“No,” he growled, “Neither of us goes without the other.”

He pressed his face in closer to hers.

“Even if I have to become immortal just like you,” he snarled, delighted, “I’ll find a way. Too stubborn to die, they’ll say about us.”

She didn’t respond, only looked slightly beyond him, and that caused the rage to bubble. He couldn’t help it. He squeezed his hands together, putting pressure on the round face trapped between them.

“Stop—” she pleaded, half-heartedly.

He could tell that she was in pain, but he saw no fear there, just sadness. Her eyes glistened green now in the bright light. She looked ancient and so very, very old. He let up the pressure on her head, but the violence was still trying to claw its way out of him. It was an impulse so very familiar and so very hard to overcome. He knew that making her feel pain would at the very least make him feel something. It wouldn’t feel good, but it would be _something_.

He relocated his hand to her neck, tightening his long fingers around the warm skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, robbing him of watching the pain or pleasure dancing there. That wouldn’t do.

He moved hand lower, to the top of her shirt. He undid a button. Her eyes flew open, although she barely moved, barely even breathed. He had just enough access to trail a finger along her sharp collarbone. Her chest rose as she took a sharp breath in. He hoped she was too inebriated to notice the way his hand shook. He traced the finger up her neck, finding a tense vein and following it up to her face, clouded eyes locked onto him. He rested the finger on her jawline, making small circles, feeling the sharp edge of bone beneath the thin layer of skin. A guilty thumb grazed her lips.

These bodies were so fragile. His fingers tucked right where her jaw met her ear and beneath the surface her could feel it, the four beats, fast and uneven, as blood raced through her veins and her hearts struggled to keep up. He wanted her. He wanted _them._ Not just now, but until the end of time, or at the very least, the end of _their_ time.

He summoned all his dwindling self-control and pulled away. Below him, every muscle in her body was rigid.

“Bed,” he said flatly, “Now.”

Neither moved.

She leaned forward. Her lips were still parted from where he had touched them moment before, and those piercing eyes darted down to his lips. She was close now, and he could feel the heat from her breath, from her flushed cheeks. Her chest swelled with a small inhale, and he wondered if she dared, and if he even wanted her like this, pinned beneath him and not quite present.

She dropped her head into his shoulder.

“I’m so _tired.”_

Her heavy weight didn’t burn, didn’t send goosebumps across his skin. He realized what had happened, as this powerful creature in this small frame groaned into his chest. His exhausted, drunk friend was using him for support.

_Come on._

He beckoned quietly, inside that messy brain. He peeled her off him and stood. He reached a hand back down to bring her to her feet, catching her when she overshot and nearly plowed into the fireplace. He couldn’t help a tease as they started up the stairs.

_You’re gonna hate me in the morning._

_Who says I don’t now?_

She was putting a lot of trust in someone she hated, as her hand grasped at his shirt, and she leaned her entire body weight onto him. He wished he was taller, but at least he wasn’t Missy, who had probably been pancaked by her Doctor by now. Finally, they crashed onto the bed. She rolled onto her back.

“Oh no,” he said, one hand finding her shoulder and the other her hip, “On your side.”

He rolled her towards him, as her eyes blinked up at him once more.

“In case you throw up.”

The Master let his hand linger on her hip, watching her breathing grow steady and slow.

“You’re touching me,” she accused.

“So I am.”

“ _Stop_.”

That word hurt, like she’d kneed him in that stupid bruise that still graced his heart. She slipped out of consciousness before he could hurt her back. The sting lingered, and he cursed himself. He’d been stupid tonight, but tomorrow he would try again, with his eyes on the prize and less mercy in his drumming, rhythmic, out of control hearts.

\--

The Doctor was woken from the couch the next morning by the sound of a chainsaw. A deep whirring reached into his dreams, into his deep sleep, and jerked him back to the light. He shot straight up on the couch only to find it wasn’t a chainsaw at all, but a blender. And the small, dark haired being in the kitchen wasn’t Missy, but the Master.

“Where’s Missy?” he asked bluntly across the condo.

There was a light pounding in his head, just enough to provide more annoying background noise than he wanted.

“She’s out,” the Master answered, crossing the room, a glass full of an orange liquid in his hand. He sat on the arm of the couch. “Guess we all needed some space. You know, after last night.”

Before the Doctor could ask, the orange drink was thrust in his face.

“Here, drink the smoothie,” he ordered, “Time Lords need their vitamins. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Whatever you are, you need your vitamins.”

The Doctor was almost thankful his brain didn’t have the energy to read into every pause and intonation at the moment. He wasn’t sure he’d like what he found.

“What time is it? Have we had the wake-up call yet?”

The Master waggled his eyebrows but didn’t respond. The drink in the Doctor’s hand was cool and the sensation was incredible compared to the stifling air in the room. He took a sip. It was refreshing and cold enough that he didn’t bother figuring out the exact taste rolling across his tongue, although he could pinpoint the exact planet of origin of the fruit if he so desired. He took a deeper sip.

“Missy’s never brought you breakfast in bed,” the Master taunted, as he watched him drink, “I’d say I imagine, but the thing is, I know.”

With the drink grounding him and some of the confusion at seeing the Master wearing off, the Doctor remembered that last night. It was hazy, but all there, Missy’s hand in his. Her voice in his _head._ He’d forgotten that until it came rushing back to him.

_I remember when you used to think of me like that._

The Master burst into the Doctor’s mind, full-bodied and cheeky. The Doctor flew off the couch.

“No, _no_ ,” he admonished, “ _We_ don’t do that.”

The Master scoffed and pushed himself off the edge of the couch.

“Of course, I remember that,” he mocked, “By this point, we’ve thoroughly christened your whole vault set-up—but telepathy is just too intimate, I guess.”

The Doctor stammered through an answer.

“Yeah—well, with cause—you—you in the future are clearly doing a number on me in the future, with—with your endless mind games—”

“Oh,” the Master sighed, exaggerated, “how regeneration tables the turns.”

“I could put you out of your misery,” he threatened, slightly undermined by the orange smoothie still in his hand as he pointed it at the Master, “Save future me at least a little pain, if your time as Missy really didn’t…”

He trailed off. He didn’t want to entertain that thought, although as he ran the possibilities in his head it was the one that kept cropping up more and more. The Master closed the distance between them.

“We’ve already tried that,” he said, “You’ve never had the guts, now or then. Or is it, then and _then_ now?” He clicked his tongue. “Time travel’s a doozy.”

The Doctor could argue all day, all week even, especially with this one particularly aggravating, wholly unique being. He was done. He chugged the rest of the smoothie, and slammed the cup down on the end table.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said definitively.

He found his sunglasses in his shirt pocket and assumed he or Missy had stashed them there the night before at some point. With legs as long as his, the front door was only a few steps away.

“Wait, we can’t go out, remember?” the Master nagged, following behind him to the door.

“Oh, right,” the Doctor replied, swinging the door open, “Except you forgot about this little thing called: I do what I want.”

He stepped out into the hot sun, pausing and then turning back to the Master in the doorway.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, course,” he mumbled, slamming and door shut and practically leaping down off the stoop next to him.

The Doctor wasn’t a fool. Well, at least not any more than could be helped. He’d keep his distance from everyone else, but stretching his legs felt good, especially after being cooped up in the house for what was it? A day? That was a long time to spend indoors, in one place. He and himself had never finished calculating the length of a day. They were just working off the assumption that the manufactured day was somewhere in the range of 24 earth hours.

The Master matched pace alongside him, taking multiple steps for every long stride.

“So, I need to know,” the Master asked, slightly out of breath, but still shifting in close to the Doctor and letting his thoughts spill out rapidly, “Is this regeneration really all that bad? I mean I remember a couple generations ago you were really feeling it, like you _knew._ And I remember Missy. We took a while to get into it, but by this stage, I could tell from the reactions of others, it was _good._ But I mean, this form I modelled on a specific human and tell me, is it a little off to you?”

The Doctor didn’t know where to begin. Thankfully, the Master wasn’t finished.

“I mean I know she’s—sorry, _you’re_ —feeling something, but I can’t quite _get_ it. Am I missing something?”

The Master asked genuinely, twisting his face up. Those brown eyes peered up at him, all the fear and doubt and aching on display, so different than Missy’s clear eyes, yet still the same. Getting lost in those eyes was easy, especially when the sun already made you want to crawl out of your skin and melt into a puddle.

Thankfully, the Doctor hadn’t completely drowned yet.

“Are you really asking me,” he replied in light disbelief, “—the dunce of the universe—for tips on picking up….me?”

The Master let out a half laugh.

“I suppose I am.”

The Doctor saw his opportunity, stopping and swinging around in front of him.

“Have you tried being kind?”

“Haha…what?”

He over enunciated the word again in the Master’s face.

“Kindness.”

The Master gave his head a violent shake.

“We don’t do that. You were so afraid of entering my head when I was Missy, that’s your no-no. You— _she_ doesn’t want me to be kind. Believe it or not, I’ve seen the eagerness in your eyes when I wrap my hand around your throat—”

“Well,” the Doctor cut him off, speaking softly to undermine the cruel edge in the Master’s voice and face, “It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out then.”

They were almost at the edge of golf course, the green grass looking patchy and wilted under the relentless sun. The Master was still defensive.

“You’re not kind to me,” he spat.

The Doctor swiveled, banishing all space between them, hunched over slightly to thrust his entire face inches from the Masters.

“And we are not without reason for that,” he growled.

“You’ve given up!” the Master barked.

That seized at him. That the Doctor did not want to know, could not know, lest it would ruin everything.

“Fine. Try it,” he challenged, “You want me? What could you say right now, that would get me to kiss you? To give you even a moment of my precious time?”

The corner of the Master’s mouth crept up, exposing a sliver of white teeth, hungry.

“No,” the Doctor scolded, “It’s not a game. Try again.”

The smirk dropped and those eyes, earnest, transfixed him. The Doctor saw him release even the smallest bit of tension, could feel those eyes tracing the all the lines on his face. The Master swallowed.

“I miss you,” the Master confessed.

The Doctor searched for the lie. It wasn’t there, but it still wasn’t right. The Doctor turned away, leaving the Master worked up with nowhere to go.

“Almost,” the Doctor replied, tired.

He could hear the Master let out a heavy breath behind him.

“And you accuse me of playing games,” he said bitterly.

The Doctor kept walking, but the Master did not follow.

“Ugh,” he whined, “Why is it so hot? I’m not walking back in this.”

The Doctor ignored him and kept going, until he heard what sounded like a very faint, electric motor behind him. He turned, as the Master driving a golf cart came into view.

“Get in, loser.”

“Did you steal that?”

“Would you rather walk all the way back in the hot sun?”

The Doctor did not really want to do either, but even just the patch of shade on the seat looked nice. He climbed abroad. The Master pulled an aggressive turn as the Doctor held on. The golf cart putt-putted back as they sat in silence.

“What did I do wrong?” the Master finally asked.

“That would’ve worked on me, if you were still Missy.”

“And?”

“I’m no longer me, and you’re no longer Missy. I think the me in there needs something else now, and you do too.”

\--

The Doctor rolled out of bed, jerking awake as limbs hit the floor at an unnatural angle. Where was she? Oh, right, sequestered away in a bedroom in a resort condo on a planet whose stupid temperatures were messing with the already unwelcome chemicals darting around her brain. She sat up.

Her brain was awake instantly. She felt…fine, recharged even. The last thing she remembered though was lying on the living room floor, singing with her past self. Nothing to tell her how she’d gotten into this bed. Oh, she didn’t like that. That sent fear and god knows what else racing across her skin.

She needed to find the Master.

She clamored downstairs, barefoot. There was no sign of him in the kitchen, the living room, the entryway. The Doctor opened the door, flying out onto the porch. She found the wrong Master.

Missy was there, sitting in the hot tub, hair piled on top of her head, a drink in hand, and not scrap of clothing on her body. The Doctor didn’t know why she bothered being surprised anymore.

“Where’s the Master?” the Doctor asked, keeping her gaze level with Missy’s scorching blue eyes.

“I’m right here,” she smiled.

The Doctor crossed her arms over her chest, although the temperature encouraged her to do the opposite.

“The _other_ you.”

Missy blinked innocently.

“Oh, I don’t know. He ran off with the _other_ you this morning. What _did_ you two get up to last night?” She feigned shock. “No really, I don’t know. What happened?”

“Nothing,” the Doctor spat back, not sure if she was lying through her teeth, “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, really?” Missy said lightly, doubtfully, her gaze lingering on parts of the Doctor that weren’t her face.

The Doctor shifted, telling herself not to look below those sharp shoulders and collarbones poking out of the water. How could Missy make her feel this exposed, when she was literally the naked one?

“You need to put clothes on,” the Doctor told her.

“Oh, come on. You’re sounding like lecturing old you again. It doesn’t ma-ha-ha-ha-ter,” she sang at the Doctor.

“Yes, it _does_.”

Missy set the drink down and shifted forward.

“You’ve spent too long around humans, dear. This is a perfectly logical response. It’s too hot, take off anything that might be trapping unnecessary heat. Submerge body in water to control body temperature and encourage evaporative cooling. The drink is called self-care. Look it up.”

She honestly couldn’t tell if Missy was messing with her or not. She swore she caught a wink across the hot tub, but it could have been lost in the heat.

Nothing about this felt logical at all. Not Missy’s lips on hers, not Missy’s body in the water just out of reach, not the warmth that crept into her cheeks at the most inopportune times. The Doctor had learned that she was possibly one of the most ancient, powerful beings in the universe. But all it took was one other infuriating being, and she felt weak in the knees. The only thing that consoled her was the fact that maybe, _maybe_ she had the same effect on them.

She moved to lean over the tub.

“I’ll be inside,” she spat.

Missy responded by splashing a full wave of water into her face. The Doctor recoiled, making a face, standing up and giving up. She heard Missy’s voice behind her.

“By the way that scrunch thing you do with your face is adorable. Absolutely next level. Nice work.”

She thought about turning back and shoving Missy’s stupid face under the water, for maybe that would wipe her smug, hungry look away. Instead, she shoved all that rage down to join the growing collection buried deep under her skin.

It was the heat that was doing this to her, so she needed to combat the heat. Every problem had a solution. The Doctor started in the kitchen, making a pile. The toaster, the blender, several oven mitts, a food processor, tinfoil, tongs, eighteen forks, two butter knifes, baking soda, several bottles of expired condiments, and an entire packet of custard creams all were shoved into tablecloth and bundled together. She went in search of the climate control unit. She located the vents blowing cold air, extrapolating where the ducts were, and piecing together that the cooler had to be…on the roof.

The bedroom upstairs had a window looking out over one of the gables. Twisting her head outside, she could see it, right at the roof ridge. Totally doable. She slung her pack over her shoulder, and crawled out the window.

Having slightly longer legs would have helped, but she managed to pull herself up, and found that the angle of the roof wasn’t horribly steep. She imagined this planet saw very little rain, if any, so a flat roof would have worked, but the human race was very partial to its aesthetics. The chimney connected to the never used fireplace was a few steps away, so she laid out her materials over the top. There was a nice view too, looking out to the resort stretching in multiple directions, the common space buildings, the golf course, their own pond below. The planet that was the goal still hung on the horizon. A promise, she thought of it as.

The Doctor grabbed a butter knife and her sonic and went to work disassemble the cooling unit. After getting the vent off, she could see its insides, a mess, but a mess she understood. Despite the scorching sun, she felt ten times more comfortable up here, one leg on either side of the roof, her hands digging deep into challenge that actually might have an answer.

Time was hard to judge without the sun visibly moving. She may have worked up there an hour, maybe three. Her creation was beginning to take shape when she was interrupted.

“Doctor!”

That angry voice she would recognize until the end of time. Missy was standing at the back of the condo, hands on hips, peering up at her. She thankfully had put on at least a shirt and some underwear.

“WHAT in the _name_ of Gallifrey are you doing?” She was properly hollering, all of that coolness from her hot tub stunt gone. “You’ve made it ten million degrees worse in the house!”

“Hey, no need to yell!” she yelled back, “It’s a work in progress.”

“Have you completely lost it?”

Another voice was berating her, this time from the front of the house. She glanced over to find a golf cart parked on the front drive, with her past self stumbling out of the passenger side, and the Master shouting up at her, brow furrowed.

“I’m improving the climate control,” she explained, not that she owed him any explanation, “Some of us are useful!”

The Master grumbled something unintelligible, before shaking his hands and arms vaguely at her.

“Get. Down. NOW.”

His anger was surprising, but after he intentionally stoked her own frustration every moment they were together, she saw no reason to help him calm down.

“What? You only want me on a roof if you can push me off it?” she prodded.

“That’s exactly right, love,” Missy added from the back of the house, “Now, do what my wise self has suggested and get down.”

She had no intention of doing so.

“I’m almost finished,” she placated, “Then, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’d be thanking me.”

She pushed herself to her feet and made her way over to the chimney. She just needed an oven mitt and celebratory biscuit and then she was practically finished. Well, plus rerouting the run-off liquid and demagnetizing the internal framework, as well as reassembling—

Her foot slipped.

Before she could catch herself, the leg attached to the foot was travelling down the side of the roof facing the back patio, and the rest of her body was going with it. The angle was still steep enough that she rolled a few times, her hands flailing unsuccessfully as she tried to stop her fall. The edge of the roof came too quickly, and she missed her last change at grabbing the gutter, plunging towards the ground below.

She felt the dull, overwhelming thud of impact and then nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love 13 but she’s a mess!! I don’t know why she fell off a roof!! She wasn’t even supposed to be up there!!! She was just gonna accidentally light something in the kitchen on fire and the next thing I know she’s climbing out the bedroom window!!!


	5. five

It wasn’t the stupidest Doctor move Missy had ever seen. Still, she wasn’t going to let them nearly kill themselves before she had the chance. Watching the Doctor roll off the edge caused the slightest hitch in Missy’s chest, a drop in her stomach to mirror the fool dropping straight off the roof.

She got there in time to stop the small blonde head from thudding into the ground.

Instinct took over, her hand finding the beat of four in the crook where her neck met her ear. It was there but faint, and part of her hoped for all their sakes a regeneration wasn’t in store. Not when she’d just met this one and phase one of her plan was barely complete. She hoisted the form onto her knee and carried her inside, watching a small abrasion on the Doctor’s cheek. The cut stayed open, with no instant healing that she’d expect if the regen process had truly begun. No limbs were sticking out at odd angles, which she had to admit slightly disappointed her. No, the Doctor seemed perfectly intact, other than the fact that she had lost consciousness.

She laid her on the sofa, mentally counting down the seconds until she’d have to deal with the other two. They were there faster than she expected. The other Doctor’s hand found Missy’s shoulder first, trying pushing her away. She wedged herself between them and the sofa.

“Back off,” she ordered him, “She’s still breathing. No thanks to you two.”

“I’d like to confirm that for myself,” he replied sharply, guttural. She knew this routine too well, him using anger to mask the worry.

It was the Master’s turn to try and elbow Missy out of the way. She elbowed herself right back, in the stomach. Even as he doubled over, he weaseled his way in to get closer.

“Is she regenerating?” he asked urgently.

“No, dear,” Missy placated him.

He reached around her to grab the Doctor’s chin, turning her head from one side to another, before his hand dropped lower. He was examining her, hands tucking in alongside her waist and back, wiggling her arms, patting down her legs.

“Alright.” The other Doctor was done watching himself get felt up. “Let an actual doctor take a look.”

Missy, still on her knees, widened her stance to block him.

“You’re not that kind of Doctor.”

“Well, I can do a better job than him,” he countered, pointing vaguely at her companion kneeled next to her.

The Master’s wide eyes darted over to Missy’s. It was an unspoken moment, which went without saying when you shared the same brain.

Missy felt for the Doctor. Just because regeneration was an option didn’t mean you wanted it. In fact, one hardly ever did. It was excruciating, a rebirth that seemed to get worse every time it happened. Every time you thought this must be it, this must be the time it doesn’t work and death will be there knocking. She’d died before and didn’t wish to try it again.

No, regeneration left you vulnerable, confused, unsure of who your friends and enemies were, unsure of who you were. They didn’t need any more of that in this lonely condo right now. Furthermore, she didn’t like the way her future self lingered close, eyes swimming with possibility.

The Doctor came to with a gasp. She went to sit upright, but the Missy caught her, pressing her back down into the couch.

“Easy, love,” she said.

“What?” the Doctor mumbled, “Where am I?”

Two brains messed with her at the same time.

“You’re in hell,” both Masters replied with straight face.

The Doctor ignored them, scrunching up her face and shoving at Missy to get space. Missy wasn’t to be stopped that easily. Nor was the other Doctor. He squeezed his expressive face in on the other side of Missy.

“Hi, me,” he said, “It’s me. What year is it? Oh, who’s the president?”

“President of what?”

“Ah, excellent, you passed that test.”

The Master reached arm out to push the past selves away again.

“That’s enough…” he rebuked, “She’s already got enough incessant chatter in her brain. She doesn’t need yours too.”

“And how would you know?” the other Doctor replied, “I—she just fell off a roof. I’m sure it’s gone a bit quieter in there.”

“I know because I can hear it,” the Master bit back, “And it’s noisy and worse than ever.”

“Alright, that’s enough, boys.”

She shoved the Master down to floor, and gave her Doctor a bump with her shoulder that was just enough to knock him off balance. With them cleared, she leaned over the couch so the Doctor’s small face was directly beneath her.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

The confused face frowned.

“None.”

“Wrong. It was three. They were just behind my back.” She turned to the boys. “I’m sorry, lads, but I think we might have to put her down.”

The other two were already fighting.

“Wait— _what_ do you _mean_ you can just hear her thoughts—”

“You’re jealous of yourself, and it really is unflattering—”

The boys continued to argue behind her, as Missy reached out a hand. She put up her pointer finger and moved it back and forth, tracking the Doctor’s eye movements. It was even warmer in the house than it had been, thanks to the Doctor failing to finish her climate control project. The Doctor’s chest rose and fell, and Missy could see the sweat glisten on her forehead. She wiped it off with back of her hand, using that as an excuse to fold her hand in next to the Doctor’s temple.

 _Contact_.

She didn’t know what she expected to find, but the Doctor had no strength to fight her. Missy fancied a peek. She found all that glittering, sappy nonsense that she expected. It was like opening up the back of a clock just to watch all those shiny gears tick relentlessly against each other with their own complicated, circular movements. It was one of her favorite sights in the universe and one her Doctor never shared with her.

There was a lot happening, as always, and the Doctor’s guards were down, Missy could tell, as she strolled past doors that should have been locked, hanging open on their creaky hinges. She was creeping into corners the Doctor was only beginning to let her into, those squishy corridors full of yearning and tenderness, regret and love.

Missy hit something she shouldn’t have.

The Doctor’s sadness was there, always, an undercurrent pathetically and poorly hidden. But this felt like she’d walked into a wall of water. Breathing was impossible, she was nowhere and there was nothing, but still she couldn’t move, limbs stuck in the nothingness and nowhereness like it was molasses. And at the center was her—a mirror—only it wasn’t her, it was him, this Doctor’s Master, stuck in glass globes and also crushing them beneath his feet—and she could feel the shards stuck in the Doctor stuck in her as well, daggers of red, of anger and pain and loneliness in a world of blue—and the one concrete word that managed to cut through—

 _Gallifrey_.

 _Stop_.

The dullness of reality came crashing back. All that remained of those consuming images were vivid green eyes, staring at her, pleading with her. Missy didn’t realize she’d gotten this close to the Doctor. She was inches away from that furrowed brow.

“What did I do to you?” Missy couldn’t help but ask softly.

“You can’t know that,” the Doctor answered with a groan, “Not yet.”

The groan summoned the others and the other Doctor returned, kneeling.

“Missy, what did you do?” His worry was clearer than before, but he hesitated to touch his past self. “Were you in my mind?”

The other Master did not care, a hand wrapping around the Doctor’s bare leg.

“Missy, I’m with you,” he added with a vaguely menacing grin, “but you can’t go rooting around in there—it’s mostly nonsense, but occasionally dangerous.”

Missy wasn’t having that. She smacked his hands away before threatening him.

“Keep your hands to yourself. Neither of you get to tell me _anything_ —”

“STOP!”

The Doctor jerked into a sitting position on the couch, her hands grasping the back cushions as the three faces froze around her.

“Stop _talking._ I’m fine,” she barked, “A little sore, but my head is perfectly alright—when it’s left alone.”

She hoisted herself up to sit on the back of the couch with her feet on the seat cushions, hovering above them.

“I just need space from you three babying me! I am _millennias_ older than all of you and I will _not_ be treated like—like a child!”

Missy lunged for her, but she escaped, swinging her legs over the back of the couch.

“Just…leave me alone!” the Doctor hissed, before sprinting for the stairs and safety.

Missy moved to follow her, but was stopped by two gentle hands on her shoulders. She pivoted to find those earnest, clear eyes.

“No,” the Doctor said, as his future self clamored noisily up the stairs, “That’s not our battle.”

\--

The Master didn’t care about their past selves or what they would do or how they would react. They were the past; the future was escaping again, acting like she was fine even though she’d just fallen off a roof.

He bounded up the stairs like a hungry animal.

As he flew into the bedroom, he shut the door loudly, clicking the lock. The Doctor was by the bed, turning to him in surprise, barely able to register that he was in the room before she realized they were alone and trapped.

“No,” she began, “Get out—”

“How are you, Doctor?”

He leaned against the door, hands behind him, blocking the exit. Well, unless she decided to go out the window again, which he wouldn’t put past her.

“How,” he repeated slowly, “are you?”

“Fine,” she answered, slow and steady.

“You fell off a roof.”

“I’ve done worse.” She took an angry step towards him. “I don’t need you or Missy or any of you, now or ever. Get out.”

She was absolutely impossible. The familiar wave swelled in his gut, the same one that he’d choked down the night before, only now he didn’t know if he could stop it. He stayed clinging to the door, grasping the doorknob behind him until his knuckles paled.

“You needed me last night.”

Her eyes shot to him, wide, his prey caught in the dark.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied flatly.

He laughed, strangled though the sound was as he pressed himself into the door.

“Sure, you do. You leaned in close and—”

_Stop._

She switched into the nonverbal, those eyes watching him still, watching every mood he made.

_You didn’t last night—_

“I don’t remember,” she confessed, to stop his oily voice in her head.

Of course, he knew that; Missy had notified him promptly once she knew, just as he kept her up to date. It was the only way their plan was had this much traction already. He watched the fight slink away from her eyes after the confession. She dropped onto the bed, shame in her hunched shoulders.

She was messing it all up again.

“Is the thought that horrifying to you?” he joked, before realizing that she was serious.

She turned her head to the side, breaking the eye contact.

“You didn’t care when I was Missy,” he reminded.

“Yeah, well, you’re not Missy, are you?” she hissed, head snapping back. The fire wasn’t quite extinguished yet. “I thought I’d gotten through to you, but that’s stupid of me, _stupid_ Doctor, to think that you might have learned something.”

Her words weren’t meant to cut him, instead she was tearing herself up with neat, honest incisions.

“I make one mistake, let you in for one evening, and what do I get? More memories _lost_.”

The way she wrapped her mouth around that last word sent ice racing through his overheated veins and the blinding white of the matrix flooded his brain. Empty. It seemed far away on a now rightfully demolished planet and also so inescapably present.

He’d come up here to fight her, to wring the words he wanted out of his oldest emotional punching bag. Instead, she had the upper hand again, because those hearts in his chest wouldn’t stop racing. Some long forgotten part of his brain was pumping out chemicals he’d never asked for and that _pain_ he always felt, that colored every waking moment, was reflected in her too. Dumping fuel on her fire would only dump it on his as well. He wanted so desperately for them to be equal and suddenly, when they were, he couldn’t stomach it.

 _Kindness_.

“What?” She blinked at him.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.”

He didn’t reply. He only released the door behind him and took a few steps towards her and the bed.

“You want to know what happened last night?” he asked.

“No lies.”

“No lies,” he repeated, offering his hand, “I’ll show you.”

She took the sweaty, outstretched hand. He yanked her to her feet.

“Hey!”

“You were sitting against the couch,” he said plainly, lowering her to the carpeted ground, “On the floor.”

She didn’t relax against the bed. She was tense, her eyes focused, the antithesis to the night before.

“You made me mad.”

She swallowed. The fear he’d wanted so badly from her hours ago lurked behind her eyes, as she watched him cautiously. He placed his hands on either side of her head, gently, barely placing any pressure.

“I squeezed your head. You wanted me to stop so I—”

He moved the hand down to her neck.

“Only you shut your eyes.”

Her eyes were wide open now. With his hand around her neck, arm resting on her chest, he could feel her hearts beating.

“So—”

He licked his lips and unbuttoned the top button on her shirt, just as he’d done. She shifted back against the bed, startled. With her pressed against the beige comforter, he could close the distance between them even further.

“Easy,” he said.

His thumb trailed along that sharp collarbone, up her neck, exploring all those soft angles that transfixed him. Her breath hitched when he got to her lips. He dropped his hand.

She looked startled at the sudden lack of contact.

“You were very drunk by this point,” he explained, unsure why he felt compelled to give her an explanation.

He reached his hand under her arm and around her waist, wrapping it around her shoulder from the back and pressing between her shoulder blades, pushing her towards him.

“Then you leaned in.”

Even with her eyes wide and awake, he could see that they still darted to his lips. He held them there, inches apart, partly to make her suffer, and partly because he was distracted, being this close without spite.

“Then you collapsed.”

Her brow furrowed, and those eyes locked with his in curiosity.

“What?”

He could feel her breath. It was both warm and cool against the sweat on his skin.

“You just said that you were tired and face planted into my shoulder. I took you upstairs—which was a feat, I might add—and tucked you in like the multi-thousand year old child you are.”

“You put me to bed?”

Her chest rose and fell as she waited for an answer, cheeks warm from the heat.

“You were embarrassingly drunk. Sloppy drunk. Go viral on the internet drunk.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Her eyes gave him a millisecond warning as they flitted downward.

She kissed him. 

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but definitely not that. She didn’t stop either, arms flying around his neck, nails pressing into the exposed skin right at the nape. He tightened his embrace around her, not caring how boiling hot it was already. Her top button undone was enough to encourage a bony shoulder to escape the shirt, and he broke the kiss to move the pale sliver of skin. He couldn’t help a small bite.

She moaned into his shoulder. Triumph briefly flashed through his proud veins before it was overwhelmed by a much stronger, swirling need. He wanted every inch of her closer to him, as close as possible, he wanted their skin to meld, to crawl inside her and never leave, the way she had him.

She sighed into him as he changed his bites to kisses and a head of soft hair fell on his chest. His breath hitched. She’d found the sensitive skin of his neck. A wet tongue and waves of pleasure and he wondered why they ever fought this.

She moaned again and he turned his head into hers, so close to her ear. He didn’t trust himself to say anything. She let out another noise, more pained this time.

“Come on, Doctor,” he whispered playfully, “I’m not even doing anything.”

Her mouth was off his neck, although her head remained curled against his shoulder.

“I feel—” she rasped, “I feel—not good.”

She rolled her face into his skin, and he could feel her arms droop.

“Like—like I fell off a roof.”

She shivered into him. Suddenly, he realized. It wasn’t the roof.

He bellowed for help, catching her weight as her body went limp, cursing both of his present selves for their own persistent self-sabotage.

\--

Missy was still standing there, under his hands, blue eyes locked onto his face. She had listened. The Doctor had asked her to stay downstairs and she had. Still, it was hard to keep her in one place for long. She ducked out of his grip and glided towards the kitchen. He followed.

“That was very earnest,” he called after her, “Some might even say…caring.”

“You can get those disgusting words out of your mouth right now.”

He lingered in the doorway as she rummaged through the kitchen. She slammed the upper cabinets before kneeling to move onto the lower ones.

“What are you looking for?”

“A snack,” she replied curtly.

Untangling the complex web of Missy lies and truths was a game he had a lot of practice at.

“Nice try.”

She swung open the fridge, making a show of scanning the shelves.

“Ugh, who took all the ketchup? How can I fake my death now?”

“Missy.”

She stopped her search, one hand on the fridge door, the other on her hip. She pursed her lips.

“Doctorrr.”

“What are you looking for?”

This made sense to him. She fought him obviously, that instinct was encoded deep in within them, but they were getting to the point where he knew if he kept pushing back, they would get somewhere. Something was starting inside her and for all the witty retorts and callous actions meant to shock, the truth was learning how to creep out. 

“I just…have a hunch I might need a certain cocktail soon.”

“ _Missy._ ”

“Oh, stop Missy-ing me and help. I need something with vinegar and something fatty.”

He joined her, eventually pulling coconut oil victoriously out of the highest cupboard.

“Oh, you see, you do have a use after all,” she congratulated, “You can reach the top shelf. Mind you, so can a step ladder, but those aren’t nearly as fun to climb…”

She pivoted to him, and before he could react her small hand was on his mid-section, backing him into the corner of the counters. She tilted her head up to gaze at him, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“How would you feel if I killed you?”

The Doctor gave a half smile.

“Honestly, it’d be a bit predictable at this point.”

Missy grinned back.

“That’s how I feel too!” she said in exaggerated agreement, “So what I’m trying to do right now is not kill you.”

Her smile fell, and he could see both fundamental truths of the Master’s existence reflected in those eyes. That small hint of pleasure that stemmed from hurting their best enemy, and the fear that maybe their plan had actually worked.

“What have you done?” he asked solemnly.

“She wasn’t supposed to fall off a roof!” She took a sharp breath. “Neither of you were.”

There was panic in those clear blue eyes now. Despite the circumstances, a tiny bit of pride and hope bloomed in the Doctor’s hearts. She was worried. She _cared._

“Okay, Missy, earn your stripes. It’s confession time. What did you do?”

She bit her lip, glancing across his face, making her decision. She stood tall, gathering any advantage she could.

“Just some light fun. A little poison. In your drinks, your smoothie, your coffee. Just enough to watch you both suffer.” She held up a hand. “Now, before you go all righteous ragey Doctor, I need you to understand just how _fun_ it is to have a partner in crime on literally my exact same wavelength. You can’t deny me that.”

“You’ve been poisoning us for fun?”

“You sound surprised,” she chided.

“How is that even a plan, Missy?” he questioned, “What are you trying to accomplish? Step one, poison. Step two, suffer. Step three, we maybe die but you had fun?”

“I mean that sounds like a slow Sunday to me.”

Arguing would get them no further now. The Doctor needed to mobilize.

“What did you use?” he asked.

“Pollen. From the Giant soaptree on Hul IV. I used my last stash on you too, so now you know what to get me for Christmas.”

He pushed himself past her and out of the corner.

“Well, at least you weren’t lying about the antidote. We have the fat, we just need the vinegar and something to help with the intake.”

He opened the cupboard under the sink and twisted his head back up. She’d propped herself against the counter, arms crossed.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried,” she commented, “You’ll survive. You always do.”

He explained as he searched.

“If she—if I suffered any sort of concussive injury, then our bodies are going to be fighting that, entire cells trying to repair the damaged ones.” Nothing under the sink, so he moved onto the drawers. “Soaptree pollen specifically inhibits that function, so instead of making us, oh, slightly queasy, you’ve made it so our body literally can’t heal itself.”

“Oh, so you are a doctor, after all.”

“Ha!” he exclaimed, pulling a sticky bottle out triumphantly, before wondering, “Who keeps vinegar in a drawer?”

The Master’s muffled voice sounded from upstairs, an urgent cry for help. Missy took a quick, noisy breath in through her teeth.

“And there’s the dinner bell,” she stated.

She cocked her head to the Doctor, and he was glad recently most of his time had been dedicated to having patience with Missy, so much so that he’d slowly inoculated himself against this exact situation. He felt oddly calm; this problem, they could solve.

They were halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! This chapter gave me hell. Poor 13 is having it rough. I didn’t mean for there to be so much whump, but also she did throw herself of the roof I can’t be blamed for that. Also just fyi this will probably come to a close in chapter or two! Running out of steam a little bit and real life has some things that need attention right now. As always thanks for reading!!!


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